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Today I got wired off a 24oz matcha and asked "Is there any meaning in what I'm doing?"
January 27, 2025
Hidden within the archives of periodicals I'm starting to understand that behind every platitude is a web introspection open to those who seek & look in the right places— though often unintentionally. To grotesquely over-simplify, philosophies usually have a sort of calling whether that be the “follow your bliss” or the Christian view of being called towards a particular practice. Some are wired with this innate instinct, others find it through faith, and some I imagine not at all. For me, it’s been a sort of quiet grappling on long walks between bouts of intense passion for whatever project I’ve decided to take on.
View On Colour, lidewij edelkoort, Issue 28 "Abstraction" 2005
View On Colour, lidewij edelkoort, Issue 26 "Spring Cleaning" 2004
I ask myself if what I’m doing is of value more frequently than I’d like to admit. Maybe this is a sign of some innate flaw in the following of my bliss or maybe this is part of the human condition, I’m still discussing with others trying to figure that out, though as you can imagine college students tend to be the least leveled in this regard, myself included.
A constant push or pull governs the human being. We require the simple but always demand the created and complex. It's an act of always trying to represent the world in more detail and more intricacy as if documentation is not enough. The act of archives, modern art, and design at large is to milk every detail of meaning, pervert it, & show the world just to leave no stone of the mind unturned.
I’m a funny person—not funny haha, but funny in a contradicting way. This quality leaves me no stranger to spewing the phrase, “I hate fashion,” while also continuing to study it. I could never give it up, you see, because I have this problem: I’m utterly in love with it. My love does not necessarily derive from its imagery or its aesthetic qualities but from its ability to encapsulate every part of the moment, arts and culture included, and its inability to ignore feelings, hopes, fears, and frailties. Fashion is a reflection of all things in the world—think beyond the zeitgeist and into the human soul. My constant push and pull lies in the aching suspicion that everything I’ve ever known to be true is wrenched; my local thrift being nothing but polyester and slacked straight stitches. Though still, it is nice to breathe in and out, to hold a linen-pressed book for a few hours, and let myself forget.
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